The Outside
by My Quiet Riot
Summary: When fifteen-year-old Natara Mansingh enters freshman year, she can't quite seem to fit in. Meanwhile, Mal, a seventeen-year-old choir boy and athlete, has struggles of his own. But what happens when their troubled worlds collide? [Horrendous summary, sorry. Loosely based on "The Outside" by Taylor Swift. Rated "T" for mild profanity, slight sensuality, and serious topics.]
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys! Well, it's been ages since I've written anything for fanfiction (or anything in general aside from school papers). I'm sure you've all heard the news by now, but Cause of Death is in fact ending. ): But just because the game is ending doesn't mean the fanfictions have to! I still plan on writing CoD fanfiction, because I love the characters so much. **

**I've been wanting to write about the topic of bullying for a while, and I've actually had this half-finished story in my drafts for ages-I just haven't gotten around to editing and posting it. The story is set when Mal and Nat were in high school. For purposes of this fic, they go to the same high school; Mal is a junior, and Nat is a freshman. The first part of this story does start out kind of sad, as I center Nat as the one getting bullied. (I picked her because based off of what the game revealed about her high school days, she wasn't exactly the most popular girl.) Hopefully you'll understand Mal's portrayal (though you won't see much of him until at least the next chapter). I'll talk more about that as it comes. (:**

**On another note, I probably won't be continuing _Beginning Again _unless people _really _want me to. I'm just kind of run dry of ideas for it, and whenever I sit down to write it, I end up coming up blank. If multiple people really want it finished, I will do my best; but otherwise, I'm just going to leave it incomplete. I have plenty of other ideas for different fics. (:**

**Anyways, I apologize for the long author's note. Also, not every chapter will be this long-there just wasn't a good place to break it, and I wanted her entire first day to be in one chapter. **

**Enjoy, and please let me know what you think! (:**

* * *

I wake up with a start as the alarm on my phone goes off. I groan and roll lazily over onto my back. Rubbing my eyes, I reach over and turn the alarm off. It's only six-thirty, but the early-morning September sunlight already filters in through the shades of my closed windows.

Summer is over, and today is my first day of high school.

I suddenly feel a flurry of nervous butterflies in my stomach. I don't know why I'm so intimidated by the day. It's just a different building with new teachers—high school can't be much different than middle school... Right?

I push the nerves down as I climb out of bed and head for the bathroom. I take a quick shower and start on my mascara as I let my hair air dry, listening to music on my phone as I get ready.

Suddenly, there is a knock on my door. "Natara, sweetie?" my mother calls as she opens the door a crack. "Oh, good, you're up. Breakfast is almost ready."

"Okay! Thanks, mom," I say with a smile as I twist the mascara wand back into the tube. She smiles back and quickly closes the door, leaving me alone to decide what to wear. I try on a few different things before I settle on a lacy white top and light blue jeans. Might as well keep it simple for the first day—I don't want to stick out too much.

"Natara!" my mother suddenly calls from downstairs. "Breakfast is ready!"

"Coming!" I call back as I pull the shirt on over my head. I quickly adjust it and throw a final glance at the mirror before slinging my backpack over my shoulder, grabbing my clarinet, and heading downstairs.

"Good morning," my mother greets with a smile, setting a steaming plate of eggs and sausage at my seat at the table. My one-year-old sister, Neha, is in a highchair across from me, already eating small, chopped up pieces of egg and sausage.

"Morning," I say, dropping my bag on the chair next to me. "Hey there, Neha," I add in that certain weird voice most people adapt when speaking to little children. Neha just giggles in response.

I eat my eggs and sausage as my mother talks to me. "Are you excited?" she asks.

"Sort of," I say, swallowing another bite of egg. "Nervous, too."

"Nothing to be nervous about," she reassures me. "You're a bright young lady, you'll do just fine!"

I smile. "Thanks, mom." I swallow my last bite of sausage and take my plate to the sink, quickly rinsing it before downing a glass of milk.

"Almost ready?" she asks.

I nod. "Yep, let's go."

Twenty minutes later, my mom pulls her car into a fifteen-minute parking spot in front of the local high school. The nervous butterflies flutter in my stomach again, but I do my best to ignore them as I grab my bag and open the car door.

"Have a good day!" my mother calls as I close the door. I watch as she drives away, then proceed to walk up to the large front doors of the school. I take a deep breath, then push them open.

I am immediately greeted by a large, bustling hallway. People mill around everywhere; some are talking and laughing, while others look about as lost as me. I follow the crowd into the gym, where we are supposed to obtain our schedules and locker assignments. Upon entering the gym, I notice that there are four tables set up, each with a large, handwritten sign taped to the wall above them. I make my way through the crowd to the line in front of the sign that reads 'freshmen'.

As I reach the front of the line, the already-tired-looking lady behind the table prompts me for my name.

"Natara Mansingh," I say clearly. She shuffles through several bins of folders until she comes upon the tab labeled with an 'M'. A few moments later, she pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to me.

"Here's your schedule," she says as I accept the paper. "If you have any problems with it, check into your homeroom for attendance, and then stop by the office. Your locker number and combination are on the top, too." I nod, thank her, and am about to turn away when she stops me. "And since you're a freshman, here is a map of the building and a few other materials you might need."

I accept the other papers, and flash her a smile. "Okay, thank you," I say. She just nods as she turns to the next person.

I make my way out of the gym—and out of everyone's way—before looking at my schedule. I can tell right away that something's not right.

_Homeroom 9C – Paulson, Jacob (Room 122A)_  
_1. Concert Choir – Sorenson, Leah (Choir Room A)_  
_2. Honors English 9 – Walker, Ryan (Room 108A)_  
_3. Honors U.S. Government – Ives, Peter (Room 201B)_  
_B-Lunch (Cafeteria A)_  
_4. Honors Geometry – Banks, Timothy (Room 130A)_  
_5. Concert Band – Andrews, Sullivan (Music Room A)_  
_6. AP Physics – Roberts, Sara (Room 107B)_  
_7. Physical Education – Woods, Hannah (Gym A)_

I look up from my schedule, confused.

Choir? I never took that. And AP Physics? That's a junior-level class; I can't even take that yet. I signed up for Honors Physical Science. What the heck?

I sigh and walk off to find my locker. It's on the first floor, number 391. I'd been to it once at freshman orientation, but I don't remember which one it is. As I'm looking around for my locker, not paying much attention, I smack right into someone I don't know, nearly knocking us both over. It's a tall girl who looks older than me; I'm guessing she's a junior or senior.

"Hey!" she exclaims, catching herself before she trips over me. "Watch where you're going, freshie!" She scowls at me and brushes past before I have time to apologize.

"Sorry," I call after her anyways.

_Freshmen problems._

Dismissing it, I finally find my locker. I twist the dial to input the combination, and on the third try, am able to pull the door open. My locker shelves, magnetic mirror, and whiteboard are already set up from freshmen orientation a couple weeks ago; all I have to do now is stack my binders and notebooks. I quickly do so and finish just as the ten minute warning bell rings. I grab a notebook and my pencil pouch before closing my locker and heading off, schedule in-hand, in search of my homeroom.

I find it with four minutes to spare. I look around for someone to sit by, when I recognize two familiar faces. Janelle and Rebecca, two of my friends from middle school, sit near the back, talking and laughing with each other. As I start to cross the room to walk up to them, I notice how different they look. They both look taller, for one, but it's more than that. As I get closer, I notice that their extremely tight Hollister t-shirts hug their small frames, their jeans are adorned with rhinestones, and it appears that they each have roughly five pounds of make-up on.

"Hey, guys," I greet with a friendly smile, setting my stuff down at a desk in front of Janelle. They both glance up at my greeting, but say nothing, and continue talking. I briefly wonder if they don't remember me, but that would be silly; we were best friends last year. Plus, braces don't make me look _that_ different.

"How were your summers?" I try again. They look over at me, and Rebecca looks me up and down, taking in the white top and blue jeans from Target and Kohls, respectively. My mom had offered to take me to designer stores before, but even though I knew we could afford it, I've never been big on dressing like it.

"Nice outfit," she smirks before she turns back to Janelle. They exchange a look and laugh lightly but don't acknowledge me further. I bite my lip and turn around, resolving to play with the zipper of my pencil pouch until I hear the tardy bell ring.

"Alright, class," a booming male voice calls from the front of the room. "My name is Mr. Paulson, and I will be your homeroom advisor for both semesters of this year. I'm going to call off attendance now, so if you could all please be quiet, we can move on to other things."

The class quiets down as Mr. Paulson begins to call off names alphabetically by last name. When he gets to my name, he struggles to pronounce both my first and last name.

"Natara Mansingh," I correct timidly. A few people snicker, and I look down, slightly embarrassed.

_Who names their kid "Natara," anyways? Oh, right—my parents._

"Thank you," he says. "Sorry for the mis-pronunciation."

"It's fine," I dismiss, glancing up at him. I'm not gonna lie; I'm pretty used to that happening.

He continues until everyone has been called.

"Now I understand that some of you have schedules to fix, but I have forms for you and your parents to sign that I legally must give out. Raise your hand if you need to go to the office for scheduling reasons."

I raise my hand and glance around; about a third of the class also has their hands raised, including Janelle and Rebecca.

_Man, they must have really screwed up the schedules this year._

"You may go after you receive these papers, then," he dismisses. He hands a stack to the front of each row with instructions to take one and pass them back. I take one and pass the rest back to Janelle, who snatches them out of my hand, takes one, and drops the rest carelessly onto the desk of the boy behind her. I stand and grab my stuff, about to leave, when Janelle and Rebecca shove past me, nearly causing me to lose my balance. I quickly catch myself and scowl as they bounce off, once again giggling loudly.

"Girls," Mr. Paulson says sternly, "Leave quietly."

"Oops, sorry!" Janelle exclaims in a fake-sounding voice, flipping her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.

I quietly follow the crowd to the front office, where a surprisingly-full room of students impatiently wait. Some sit down in the padded office chairs, but most lean against a wall and chat with friends. I stand in line at the office desk, silently observing people as I wait for those in front of me to finish. When I finally get to the front of the line, the frazzled lady asks me what's wrong with my schedule.

"I somehow got Concert Choir instead of Honors Spanish One," I say, "and AP Physics instead of Honors Physical Science."

The woman sighs and hands me a half-sheet of paper. "Write your name, grade, and what classes need to be switched for what hours. Then add it to the stack."

I nod, taking the paper. "May I just go to the classes I signed up for, then?" I ask.

"It'll take us the whole day to change all of these, so I'm afraid you'll have to go to what's on your schedule," she states tiredly. "Sorry."

_Wait, I have to go to Choir? Great._

"Oh, uh, okay," I stammer. "Thanks." I walk away from the desk and press the paper to a wall as I quickly fill it out, finishing just as the dismissal bell rings. I set it on the already-huge stack of class requests, then reluctantly head to Choir Room A.

I'm immediately greeted by an overly-energetic lady, seemingly in her mid-forties. "Hello!" she greets cheerfully. "Welcome to Concert Choir!"

"I'm, uh, not actually supposed to be in this class," I confess shyly. "My schedule's wrong. I'm, uh, supposed to have Spanish. I'm not really good at singing."

"Anyone can be good at singing!" she exclaims flamboyantly. "But I understand. Just take a seat for today, please."

"Okay," I murmur submissively. "Thank you." I head to the front of the room to see students already sitting, chatting loudly amongst each other. I take a seat on the edge of one of the rows, hoping to be as invisible as possible. As the tardy bell rings, Mrs. Sorenson scampers to the front of the room.

"Good morning, students, and welcome to Concert Choir!" She perches on the edge of the stage. "For those of you who don't know me, I am Mrs. Sorenson. We're going to start with introductions, then we'll move on to some basic warm-up activities, just to see where you all are. Sound good?" A chorus of voices murmur affirmation. "If everyone could seat yourselves in a circle, we can get started." Everyone immediately obeys, some nearly tripping over themselves to position their chairs by a friend. I notice Rebecca with a group of people I don't know, but other than that, nobody looks familiar.

I slowly climb the couple stairs to the raised platform and timidly find a spot next to a girl who looks to be about my age. Her golden-blonde hair is straight and long, and her green eyes meet mine as I sit down next to her.

"Hi," I offer with a shy smile.

"Hi," she greets back, returning the gesture.

_That's probably the first positive interaction I've had all day._

As the last few kids amble on stage and filter into spots, Mrs. Sorenson walks to the center of the circle and begins speaking again.

"Alright, boys and girls!" she calls, gaining everyone's attention. "We're going to start with a basic get-to-know-you exercise. Turn to someone next to you, tell them your name if you don't already know them, and try to find one thing in common. Go!"

I turn to find the guy to my right already talking and laughing with another guy; I assume they knew each other already. I turn to my left in time to see the person on the other side of the blonde girl turn away from her to talk with someone she looked like she knew. We make eye contact, and she smiles again.

"I'm Bethany," she introduces with a friendly handshake.

"I'm Natara," I greet. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too. Are you a freshman?" she asks.

"Yeah," I answer. "I'm not actually supposed to be in this class. I got put in here instead of Spanish."

"Neither am I," she says. "I'm not supposed to be here, either. I took art; I can't sing to save my life."

"Looks like we found our thing in common," I laugh.

"Yeah, guess so," she replies, also laughing. "What other classes do you have?"

I pull my folded schedule out from my pocket and hand it to her. She glances over it.

"We have Honors Geometry the same hour," she tells me.

"Sweet," I smile. At least I might have someone to sit with.

"I wanted to do band," she says next, "But I don't play an instrument, and I didn't have time to learn one. What do you play, anyways?"

"Clarinet," I say. "I've only played a few years, though."

"Cool," she says with a nod. "I like your shirt, by the way."

"Oh, thanks!" I'm about to ask her a question when Mrs. Sorenson speaks up over the dull roar of students' chatter. "Alright, time's up! Turn to the person on your other side that you haven't spoken to yet!"

We both turn away, and I'm now facing the guy again.

"Hi," I greet with a smile. The guy glances at me, looking rather disinterested.

"Hey," he says gruffly with one of those tough-guy nods. Not to be judgmental, but he immediately doesn't strike me as the "choir type."

"I'm Natara," I continue, offering my hand.

"Mal," he says, lightly shaking it.

"I'm, uh, not actually supposed to be in here," I explain. "I took Spanish, not this."

"Oh," was all he said.

"So, um," I stammer, trying to make conversation. "Are you a freshman, too?"

"Ah, fresh-meat," he comments with a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

_I'll take that as a no._

"Nope," he confirms. "I'm a junior."

"Oh, uh, sorry," I mutter, slightly embarrassed.

He shrugs clinically. "Whatever."

_What a polite boy he is. _

_Not._

"So..." I start, trailing off and hoping he sparks some form of conversation. He glances at me expectantly, then looks back down again. We sit in silence.

Just then. Mrs. Sorenson walks over. "Come on, you two! Talk!" she urges. "I know you're capable of talking, Malachi."

Mrs. Sorenson turns away, and Mal rolls his eyes.

"What's your schedule?" he asks, though he still sounds like he couldn't really care less. He keeps eyeing Mrs. Sorenson as if she has eyes in the back of her head that are watching to see if he's actually conversing. I pull my schedule out of my pocket again and hand it to him. He skims it over and smirks again. "Smarty-pants," he comments.

I blink in surprise. "Uh... okay..."

He rolls his eyes before smirking, "I'm just kidding. Loosen up."

Just as I think I'm about to drown in this poor excuse for a conversation, Mrs. Sorenson speaks up.

"All right, everyone, we're going to move on to some basic warm-up exercises," she announces loudly. Group together in sections." Everyone hustles to their sections, but Bethany, a few others, and I stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. I quickly scramble to a group of both guys and girls, which turns out to be the tenor section. The rude boy, Mal, joins a group of his friends near me.

_Close enough, I guess._

"Okay, let's just start with a do-re-mi scale," Mrs. Sorenson continues once everyone is assembled. She stands behind a piano and keys the notes as everyone sings.

"Do... Re... Mi... Fa..." I sing awkwardly and quietly, hoping that no one can hear me. It's not like I have a terrible voice, but it's not particularly glorious, either. "So... La... Ti... Do..."

I can hear Mal singing from slightly behind me, and I'm surprised to hear that he's actually really good.

"Very good!" she exclaims once we've finished. Now follow my lead, and please _enunciate_!" She pauses before starting a basic melody on the piano.

"Many mumbling mice are making merry music in the moonlight," she sings loudly and clearly, over-emphasizing the first syllable of every word. "Mighty nice!"

_What the hell?_

I find the short song weird, but I don't want her to call me out, so I am forced to sing when everyone else does. I follow along with the others, though I sound more like a mumbling mouse than something that's merrily making music. We repeat the wretched line a few more times, run a couple more scales, and are about to start a more complex melody-harmony version of the do-re-mi scale, when the bell finally rings, dismissing me from choir.

_Oh, thank God._

I just about run out of the room, relieved that it's over. I briefly flash a smile at Bethany before she turns down an opposite hall. Since I don't need anything else from my locker, I head straight to Honors English.

Upon walking into the classroom, I immediately notice that the teacher is very attractive and barely looks out of high school himself. He greets students as they walk in, and I return a shy smile before hurriedly finding a seat near the front of the classroom. I look up to see Janelle and Rebecca, but I hastily look down again before they can make eye contact and agitate me further. I hear them loudly chatting as they take seats in the back of the room.

As the tardy bell rings, the teacher strides up to the front of the class. "Good morning, everyone," he greets with a friendly grin.

"Good morning!" Janelle and Rebecca spurt with a girlish giggle. I subtly roll my eyes.

"I'm Mr. Walker," he continues after a brief nod at Janelle and Rebecca, "And I will be your Honors English teacher this year. I hope you sat somewhere nice, because the seats you chose today will be where you sit for the rest of the semester."

A few people groan, but the majority of the students squeal in delight and exchange happy glances with their friends. I do neither and quietly look down, avoiding eye contact with people, since I know nobody is looking at me.

"Now," he continues, "Since I'm a new teacher this year and you all are freshmen, I would like to do something to get to know you." He begins to pass out papers to the first person in every row. "I've written up a quick 'about you' paper that I'd like for you guys to fill out. Just leave it on your desk when you finish."

When he gets to my row, I take the papers, say a quick thank you, and pass all but one to the person behind me. I write my name and class hour at the top, then start silently reading the questions while everyone else is still chatting.

_Birthday?... October twenty-fourth... Favorite animal?... Horses... Favorite candy?... Milky Way... Favorite book?... "The Scarlet Letter"..._

I finish soon enough and resolve to doodle in the margins until everyone else finishes. I eventually get bored and set down my pencil, resorting to examining the white-painted color of my nails. When it seems like the majority of the class has finished, Mr. Walker steps to the front of the room again.

"Now, for the last ten minutes of class," he announces, "I want you to partner up with someone you don't know well, introduce yourselves, and try to find some common ground."

_Ugh, again with the find-something-in-common thing?_

Though he had said "someone you don't know well," by the amount of chatter and laughter that soon follows, it appears that most people have just turned to a friend. I turn in my seat and look around awkwardly for someone to talk to, but everyone is already partnered up and chatting away.

Oh, great.

I turn to face the front again, and make the mistake of looking up. Mr. Walker notices me by myself and, surprised, says, "Oh, do we have an odd number?" Everyone stops their conversations and look around for the "odd one out," and their eyes eventually fall on me. I shift uncomfortably under their gazes, feeling my cheeks heat up in embarrassment and a lump in my throat begin to form.

"Hey, no big deal!" Mr. Walker dismisses nonchalantly, flashing me a reassuring smile. "I could've sworn I had an even number in this class, but I'll be your partner."

I hate the pity of an admittedly-attractive male, especially in front of the whole class, but I manage a smile back, nonetheless.

He pulls his rolling chair up to my desk and takes a seat. "What's your name?" he asks me, though the room is still quiet. I glance around awkwardly, head down slightly, and don't answer. He promptly takes the hint and says loudly, "All right, everyone, back to your conversations."

It's silent for another split-second before everyone slowly turns back to each other and resumes conversation.

"Natara," I answer once everyone's conversations pick back up.

"It's very nice to meet you," he says, shaking my hand. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I kind of put you on the spot there."

"It's fine," I say with a slight laugh.

"Are you new to the area?" he asks, probably thinking that was why I wasn't talking to anybody, and vice versa.

"No," I answer, looking down again.

_Ugh, this is so embarrassing._

"Oh," he says, slightly surprised. "Sorry. Man, I'm on a roll today," he adds with a laugh. I can't help but laugh, too. He looks down towards my desk at the paper I just filled out.

"Ah, _The Scarlet Letter_," he comments. "I read that as a high school sophomore. If I remember correctly, it was a difficult read."

"It starts off slow," I admit, "But it's one of my favorites."

"Wonderful," he smiles. He takes the paper and skims it.

"Oh, you're a horseback rider" he asks.

"Yeah," I answer with a node and smile.

"Do you have one?" he questions.

I nod again. "Yeah, her name is Shadow."

"Ah," he says with a nod. "My ol' girl Hazel is at my parents' place in the country, but I try to get up for a visit whenever I can."

I don't know what to say back, so I just smile and nod again.

_Say something, you idiot! _

"How long have you been riding?" he asks, saving me from having to come up with a point of conversation.

"I kind of grew up with it," I answer. "My dad first taught me when I was six or so, and I've enjoyed it ever since."

"You must be a pro, then," he states. I laugh and, to my further embarrassment, blush. "I must've been at least twenty when I started... so, three years ago, I guess."

We exchange further chatter for a few more minutes before the dismissal bell rings. Everyone abruptly stands up, as do Mr. Walker and I.

"Okay, everyone," he nearly-shouts, "Have a good day! You'll get textbooks tomorrow!"

As I pick up my stuff and turn to go, he calls my name, and I turn.

"It was nice to meet you, Natara," he says with a friendly smile. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks," I say shyly. "You too." With that, I turn and hurry out of the classroom, exhaling a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I do not do well with attractive males.

Since we don't have books yet, I don't need anything at my locker, so I scurry off to Government. In class, Mr. Ives introduces himself and goes on an overview of what we'll learn this year. Thankfully there are no stupid get-to-know-you activities, but the rest of the hour goes by painfully slow. I've never had a particular enjoyment of social studies classes, and this appears to be no different.

When the bell finally sounds, I notice how hungry I am; I haven't eaten since breakfast. I drop my stuff off at my locker, then head down to the lunchroom. I pass the girl from choir, Bethany, on the way there, and she asks if I have lunch now.

"Yeah, do you?" I ask hopefully.

"No," she replies. "I had A lunch last hour."

"Oh, okay," I say, suppressing a sigh. "See ya'!" She smiles and walks off towards class.

I wander into the cafeteria alone and get in line behind a group of upperclassmen who are loudly talking about some "frickin' sick" party from the summer. I eventually go through the line and pick a ham sandwich, bag of chips, an apple, and a cookie. I grab a bottle of water, too, and the lady scans my lunch card.

"Thanks," I say as she hands the card back. She smiles in return.

Now the hard part: figuring out where to sit. Or, better-phrased, where I _can _sit. I glance around and immediately notice cliques. There are a group of loud, peppy girls at a table near the center, whom I take to be cheerleaders or something. They're surrounded by tall, built-looking guys—probably football players or "jocks" in general. There are some people I vaguely recognize from choir, but their table is full.

I suddenly spot my friend Annabelle who was in most of my classes last year. I don't know who the other girls are, but Annabelle and I were pretty good friends, so I figure I can sit there.

"Hey, Annabelle," I greet with a smile as I sit down across from her at an open spot. Annabelle looks up and starts to smile and greet me back, but a pretty blue-eyed girl with long, curled hair sitting next to her cuts her off. I think her name is Katie. I don't really know her, but we were in the same math class last year.

"Ew," Katie scoffs disdainfully. "Why are _you_ sitting here? Annabelle, do you know this loser?" Surprised, I bite my lip and look at Annabelle.

_Ouch._

She looks slightly taken aback and fumbles for words. "I, uh, well... She, uh... She was just in some of my classes last year, that's all."

_Double ouch._

Katie scoffs again. "Well, we can't be seen sitting with _her _type," she laughs. "Come on." With that, Katie and the other four girls at the table stand, grab their lunches, and almost-robotically stride off. I think for a moment that Annabelle is going to stay, but I'm wrong; she stands up, grabs her tray, and glances down at me.

"Sorry, Natara," she says quietly before walking away and joining the other girls at another table, clear across the room. Now by myself, I feel that stupid lump in my throat that I get when I'm about to cry. I try to swallow it down with a gulp of water, attempting not to further embarrass myself by being seen crying alone at a lunch table. The boy I recognize as Mal walks by and sees me, but quickly averts his eyes as he hurries past. I abruptly look down in embarrassment.

The next twenty minutes seem to go by painfully slow as I sadly pick at my food, no longer hungry. I see Katie whiz by, and a few seconds later, she walks by again with a plastic fork in her hand.

Seeing my untouched food, she laughs, "What, do you not like eating, either?"

"Of course I like eating," I snap, my hurt momentarily turning to anger as I defiantly take a bite of my cookie and choke as I attempt to swallow. She just laughs and marches off. I glance over to the table she sits down at, and Annabelle meets my gaze. Her own eyes seem sad, for whatever reason, but this time, it's me who looks away first.

Finally, the dismissal bell rings. I quickly stand up, dump most of my food in the trash, and add the tray to the growing stack. I hurry to my locker, grab my stuff, and head off to Geometry, taking several deep breaths to calm down before I enter the classroom.

Bethany walks in and finds a seat next to me, and we exchange friendly grins as the teacher, Mr. Banks, heads to the front of the room. The class goes by annoyingly slow as Mr. Banks writes stuff on the board that I swear I learned in about sixth grade. He gives us a worksheet to go along with the so-called "lecture," and I finish it in about fifteen minutes, before he's even gotten half-way through. I zone the rest of the class out and am having a hard time staying awake by the time the bell finally rings. I immediately hand in the paper with a couple others as almost everyone else shoves theirs into their folders and leaves.

"Wow," Mr. Banks says, clearly impressed. "You guys finished already?" We all nod.

_What is this, preschool?_

"Impressive, thank you!" We nod again, then leave.

I grab my clarinet from my locker, then hurry off to band. I find the room and join about five or so other people that got there before me. I gingerly set my case down on the floor and immediately stick my reed in my mouth. I haven't played all summer, but I'm guessing nobody else really did, either. I slowly put my instrument together and join the others. I take a seat in the middle of the front row for now. We'll be put into chairs soon enough. I start idly playing a few scales as I wait for the others and the director.

Soon enough, others fill in the remaining seats, and Mr. Sullivan signals for us to stop playing and settle down.

"Welcome to band," he begins in a boisterous tone. "I'm Mr. Sullivan. Most of you probably know how this goes, but for you freshmen, I'll explain." A few of the upperclassmen snicker at this, but he ignores them. "The majority of your grade in this class will be participation, but you'll also be graded on scale memorization and other skill-related things. I know most of you are a little rusty because of the summer, so I'll give you a couple weeks to get back into the swing of things before I have you play for chairs. I'll let you know when the time gets closer, but for now, I'll just have you play music according to your grade. If it's a three-part song, freshmen and sophomores share third, juniors get second, and seniors get first. For four parts, each grade gets the corresponding piece. You'll play in front of me for chairs two weeks from tomorrow, so be practicing!"

He hands out some music and we start some tuning. "Clarinets, play the first note you have at measure thirteen." I have a low C, so I hold down the appropriate keys and play the note. It sounds surprisingly decent, considering I haven't played all summer, but I can tell someone else in our section is off.

Mr. Sullivan narrows his eyes and points to the three of us that have fourth clarinet. "What are your names?" he asks.

"Dylan," a shorter boy says timidly.

"Tess," the girl beside me says more confidently.

"Natara," I say quietly.

He nods. "Dylan, play your first note, please."

Dylan nods and plays what was supposed to be a C, though the only sound that came out was a high-pitched squeaky note. I wince, and the upperclassmen laugh.

Mr. Sullivan looks at the embarrassed boy. "Dylan, what note do you have at measure thirteen?" he asks.

Dylan looks down at his music. "I, uh... a low C."

"Yes," Mr. Sullivan confirms. "So why are you playing a B-flat?" Everyone snickers again, and I have to bite my lip so I don't start laughing, too. It was funny, admittedly, but it's not fun to be laughed at in front of everyone; I would know.

"I, um... I don't know," he stammers, cheeks flushing red. I can't help but feel bad for him, really.

"First three fingers," Mr. Sullivan says gently. "Try again." Dylan tries again, and successfully plays the note. It started out squeaky, but he played it.

"There you go!" Dylan nods at Mr. Sullivan and looks down again, cheeks even redder, if that's possible. I look over at him and flash an encouraging smile when he makes eye contact. He half-smiles gratefully back, but then turns and continues to look down.

"Tess," Mr. Sullivan continues. "C, please." Tess plays it almost perfectly, and he nods in approval.

"Natara," he says, looking at me. "C, if you will."

I nod and play the note, pleased to find it comes out nice and crisp. "Excellent!" he exclaims. "Now that we have that figured out, let's continue."

We read a few more songs, and the bell soon rings, dismissing us. I quickly put away my clarinet and just about run across the building to make it to AP Physics—a class I'm not even supposed to be in—on time.

The teacher introduces herself as Mrs. Roberts, and continues to explain to the class about a preliminary knowledge test to find out what everyone remembered from Physical Science a couple years ago.

_Oh, fantastic. I haven't even taken that class yet._

We covered some physics-based material in Honors Science last year, but I'm sure a college-level class is quite a bit more difficult.

"The test is forty questions, but they're all multiple choice and should only take you about twenty minutes. We'll grade them in class once everyone has finished," she announces. I try to find an opportune time in which to tell her that I'm not even supposed to be in this class, but she hands me the test and quickly scurries on to the next row. I sigh and resolve to take it, show her the grade, and then explain that I haven't even taken Physical Science yet.

I begin reading the questions, and to my surprise, I somehow know most of them. The ones I don't know, I figure out with common sense.

_I guess that stupid book I had to read for English about the laws of Physics was somewhat useful._

I finish the last question and glance around, making a cursory scan. About half the class seems to be done; the others are awkwardly biting their pencils, looking up or beside them, clearly unsure of what they're doing. As soon as everyone looks finished, Mrs. Roberts strides to the front of the class again, her heels clacking on the linoleum floor.

"Raise your hand if you're still working," she calls. I look around, as does everyone else, and find that nobody has their hand raised. "Very good," she continues. "Let's correct it!" About half the class groans as they search for a red pen. I pull one out of my pencil case and click the top, exposing the inked part of the pen.

"Alrighty then," she murmurs. "I'll go through the letter answers, and if anyone needs any repeated, ask at the end."

Everyone nods.

"Number one is B as in boy," she starts. A chorus of "yes" and "crap" rises up, and Mrs. Roberts scowls. "Keep your comments to yourself," she chastises before continuing. "Two is C, Three is A, Four is A, Five is D..." She continues to read the answers until she gets to number forty. "... And number forty is C. Any questions?" A few people raise their hands and ask for a certain number repeated, and she gives the answers. I'm extremely surprised to find that out of forty, I only got four wrong.

Not bad for not actually taking Physical Science.

Just then, the bell rings, and everyone stands up.

"Turn in your tests to me as you leave," Mrs. Roberts calls. I take my time gathering my things as everyone else leaves, waiting for the majority of the class to be gone before I approach her.

"Um, excuse me?" I say timidly as I approach her desk.

Mrs. Roberts looks up. "Hi," she greets with a smile. "How can I help you?"

"I'm, uh, not actually supposed to be in this class," I start, trying to explain. "I haven't even taken Physical Science yet."

"Oh, really?" she asks, clearly surprised. I hand her my quiz, and she looks down at it. "Wow, I wouldn't have been able to tell. You did better than most of the juniors. What grade are you in?"

"I'm a freshman," I answer. "I tried to sign up for Honors Physical Science, but I was put in here by mistake instead. I'm getting it changed."

"Well, based on your score," she starts, "if you want to do a couple more prerequisite tests, I could potentially get it cleared so you can skip Physical Science and take this instead. You'd have to do a little extra work to make up for what you won't learn in here, but it's doable if you're willing.

"Well, uh, if that's all right," I stammer, unsure of how to respond. "I mean, if you think I'll do well..."

"If you score as well on the other prerequisite tests as you did on this one, you'll do wonderfully. You seem to be a very bright girl!"

I smile and blush slightly. "That would be great, thank you."

I turn and walk out, then hurry to my locker to drop my things off so I can make it to my next class on time. I check my schedule and groan before heading to the gym. Once there, I join the group of students seated on the gym floor. As the tardy bell rings, an extremely pretty brunette walks up to the front of the assembled students. A few guys whistle cat calls, and the woman whirls around and stares at them with a glare that could melt the Arctic. Surprised, they immediately silence themselves and look down.

"Good afternoon," she greets pleasantly. "I am Ms. Woods. Welcome to physical education. We'll just be going over the generals of the class today, but I expect you all to come tomorrow ready to run a little." A few people groan at this. "And no groaning at the mention of exercise. This is a physical education class, and it won't kill you to run a few feet." Everyone snickers, as do I. "Right, well, first thing's first. Attendance." She calls off everyone's names and we each say "here" as she calls our name.

"Okay, now that that's taken care of, I'm going to explain what we'll be doing in this class. We'll be focusing on the sports that are in season at the time, so since it's fall, we'll start with soccer, then move on to volleyball, football, and a little cross country running if time permits. I'll have you all start with some fitness tests tomorrow to see where you all generally are, but I'd like to know if any of you play sports. Raise your hand if you're in a sport any season of the year."

Almost everyone in the room raises a hand, save me and a couple others.

"Wow, that's awesome!" she exclaims. "For those of you who aren't, don't worry about it. We all have different strengths.

She goes on for another five minutes about what we'll do during each sports unit before she moves on to P.E. uniforms. "Now, most of you already have them, but for those of you who don't, you'll need to purchase at least one P.E. uniform, though I'd recommend two so you don't have to wear the same shirt every day. Come and find me after class if you need to buy one, and we can talk then."

She continues telling us about the basic guidelines for shoes and shorts, as well as sportsmanship for when we play games.

"All right, I think that's all I needed to say, so you guys can have the last five minutes to chat. If you need to buy a uniform, follow me to my office. I have them there."

A few others and I follow Ms. Woods to her office where she pulls a large box of t-shirts out from underneath her desk. They're red and gold like the school colors.

I stand behind the other two as they tell Ms. Woods their name and what they need. They soon leave, and I step up beside her desk.

"Hi!" she greets with a warm smile. "What's your name?"

"Natara," I reply, returning the smile.

"It's nice to meet you," she says with another smile. "Size and how many?"

"Small, and two, please," I tell her.

"Wonderful. They're ten dollars each, so just bringing me the money sometime this week would be great."

"Okay," I say with a smile. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome, have a wonderful day!"

_Yeah, what a wonderful day it's been._

"Thanks, you too!"

I take the shirts and trudge back to my locker, completely zapped of energy from the day.

_It's only the first day of school and I'm already drained. Great._

I shove all my things into my bag before checking my phone to find a text from my mother saying she's outside waiting. I don't bother texting back and instead walk out the doors to find her. I soon find the black Honda and slide into the passenger seat, forcing a cheerful smile.

"Hi, sweetheart," my mother greets with a smile. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good," I lie as I buckle my seat belt.

"Make any new friends?" she asks.

_I hate that question._

I think back to the day. The closest I got to making a friend was in a class I wasn't even supposed to be in, but to satisfy my mother, it will have to count.

"Yeah," I half-lie.

"That's my girl," my mother says peppily as she pulls out of the lot. My baby sister, Neha, coos from the back seat. My face instantly lights up in a genuine smile. I turn around half-way so I can see her, and she immediately reaches out for me. I extend an arm and she takes one of my fingers in her whole hand. I laugh as she giggles with glee before my mother tells me to turn around.

When we get home, I toss my bag on the floor. Since I don't have any homework, I resolve to watch TV until dinner. I was only really half-watching, though, because most of my mind was replaying the day, inwardly wincing at the stupid things I'd done.

_Oh well, tomorrow will be better. I'll just sit with someone else at lunch and avoid everyone I don't wanna talk to._

I keep telling myself that tomorrow will be better, because I really think it will.

Or maybe that's just me hoping.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Here is Chapter Two! I have quite a bit of this story written already, so until I get to the part I'm still working on, I'll just be posting a new chapter every couple of days or so. (: Thanks to Molly and Christie for the nice reviews last time-I'm glad you guys are liking it. (And even if you didn't, I'd probably keep writing it anyways, because I really like where it's going, haha.)**

**Anyways, here is the second chapter. Enjoy! (:**

* * *

After another month of essentially the same routine, I walk out of Government class, both arms full with a textbook, a notebook, papers, my pencil case, and a stack of notecards that I'm using to study with for my test tomorrow. As I walk past a set of lockers, I spot Annabelle, Katie, and the same other girls that are normally with them. I had managed to avoid them for three weeks, but I guess I was bound to run into them again. I mean, it's a big school, but it's not _that_ big.

"Hey, brace-face," Katie calls out.

_Oh, really creative. Never heard _that_ one before._

It's probably a good thing I don't say all my thoughts out loud, because I probably would've gotten punched for a few of them. I simply close my mouth and stride past as Katie and the other three girls laugh. Annabelle expels a nervous fake laugh, but the other girls don't seem to notice. I feel her eyes follow me down the hall, but I quicken my pace and disappear around the next corner. As much as I try to ignore their comments and laughter, they still sting.

I reluctantly walk to lunch, grab my tray, and sit at my normal spot at a table in the corner of the room—by myself. As I've done for the past month, I eat my lunch quickly, return my tray, and then head to the library. Sometimes I read there, but most of the time I just sit in one of the bean bag chairs and think. The librarian is very nice; sometimes we exchange idle chatter, but she isn't always there. Today is one of the days she is absent, and excluding the hum of the computers, the library is quiet. I have too many thoughts to process, and I don't want to try; so I wander to a shelf, pick out a book, and start reading. When the dismissal bell from lunch rings, I stick a post-it note inside the page and return it to the shelf; people rarely check books out, so I usually just come back another time to continue.

I somehow manage to make it through fourth and fifth hour without falling asleep, and soon enough, it's AP Physics time. I had passed the prerequisite tests with flying colors—how, I'm not sure—and I had gotten it approved to skip Physical Science and go straight to AP Physics.

In that class, I had come to "know" a boy named Drew. He's a junior, and he's a douche bag. He rotates between making fun of me and copying my answers. No matter how hard I try to shield my paper, he always somehow manages to get answers; if not from me, then from someone around him.

"All right, AP students," Mrs. Roberts calls, gaining our attention. "I have your last tests graded, and I'm quite displeased to say that the majority of you did not do very well. The average percentage for this class was a seventy-four."

Everyone winces. She begins to walk around the room and hand back the tests. Drew, who sits kiddy-corner in front of me, groans when he sees his. Fifty-nine percent. People all around the room expel groans and other derogatory phrases as they receive their tests back. Mal, who sits kiddy-corner in front of me on the other side, glances at the sixty-six percent circled in red at the top, winces, and silently turns the paper over on his desk. I quickly look away, as I have a feeling I wasn't supposed to see that.

The only ones left without a test are the girl who sits next to me, a guy on the other side of the room, and myself. Mrs. Roberts walks up to the girl and me with a smile on her face. "Wonderful job, girls," she beams as she hands us both our papers, face down. I flip mine over and can't help but smile in relief at the ninety-six circled at the top. The girl beside me, Emma, breathes a sigh of relief, and I glance over at her. She looks at me at the same time, and I see the ninety-eight on her paper.

"Good job," I say with a smile.

"Thanks," she replies as she glances at mine. "You too, that's awesome."

"Thanks," I smile.

_Hey, today isn't so bad._

Just then, Drew turns around and looks at my paper before I can put it away. "Nerd," he murmurs with a smirk.

_Never mind._

I roll my eyes and turn away to catch Mal glancing at my paper. He realizes I saw him looking, and awkwardly glances up at me.

"Geez," is all he says before abruptly turning back around and slumping down in his seat. It doesn't really sound mean; it almost sounded... Well, I'm not sure, really. I can't place it.

"A few of you did well," Mrs. Roberts announces once she approvingly hands the other boy his test. "But for those of you who did not, you will need to re-write the essay portion. It must be typed, double-spaced, and at least four pages."

Emma and I smile at each other again before turning back to the front. Everyone else, save the boy in the back who I assume did well, groans.

"I'll give you the rest of the hour to work on them. For those of you who don't need the revisions, you may do what you'd like for the remaining half hour." I nod and pull out a book, drowning the rest of the classroom out as I dive back into the world of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_.

Half an hour later, the dismissal bell rings, startling me out of the pages. I gather up my stuff and am about to leave, when Mrs. Roberts tells Emma, the boy—Aaron, apparently—and I to meet her at her desk.

"Unlike the rest of the class, you three did very well," she commends with a smile. "Very impressive, considering you two haven't had Physical Science since freshman year," she says, looking at Emma and Aaron, "and you haven't taken it at all," she finishes, indicating me. Emma looks surprised.

"Wow, you haven't taken it at all?" she asks. I shake my head. "Dang, you're really smart."

I smile in response.

"I just wanted to let you two know that you three consistently score higher than the entire class, and I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you," we all say at the same time, flashing a smile as she dismisses us to our last hour.

I hurry to the locker room to change for P.E., not wanting to be late and having to explain. Most of the girls are done changing by the time I get in there, but I quickly hustle and manage to emerge before Ms. Woods makes it to the front of the gym. I'm still pulling my hair up into a ponytail when she begins talking.

"All right," she says, "Today we're going to play some volleyball games. It's nothing super competitive, volleyball players, so don't get overly-aggressive, please." Some of the girls groan. "Just because of the numbers we have, I'm splitting guys and girls up. Guys, go to the far net, and girls, stay here. Now I believe we have an even number of girls, so this should work. Stacy and Leah," she continues, pointing to the two captains of the actual varsity volleyball team, "You're each captains of opposing teams. Take turns choosing girls, but please don't just choose your friends."

_Oh, great. Like hell they won't choose their friends._

Stacy starts. "Trish," she calls, pointing to another girl that's on the varsity team.

"Lindsey," Leah calls as yet another volleyball player stands.

They continue to call off names, and soon enough, each team has an even number, and I'm still standing in the middle.

"Oh, shoot," Ms. Woods exclaims. "I'm sorry, I thought we had an even number."

I look down as I feel my cheeks heat up and embarrassed tears prick my eyes. I hear snickering around me.

"Natara," Ms. Woods calls, "Please go with Leah's team."

Leah and a couple others groan, and Ms. Woods glares at them. "Hey now, girls! Our goal here is not to exclude anybody; I'm picking teams next time." Everyone quiets down, and I reluctantly join Leah's group. The two teams divide on each side of the net, and Stacy's team starts serving. I'm not on first, so I watch for several volleys as it's played back and forth over the net, hitting the ground when Stacy, Leah, or another of the "real" players hit it effectively. I'm soon told to rotate in, and I inwardly groan as I'm shifted to right back. Thankfully, the other team has the ball, so I don't have to serve right away. Stacy is serving from the other team now, and before I can even get ready, the ball is sailing over the net and towards Leah. She expertly passes it to the girl who's setting, and the setter sets it to a girl I don't know in the middle front position. The girl skillfully hits the ball over the net and drives it to the ground. Leah cheers, and even Stacy comments on it being a "nice hit."

We keep playing and rotate, and soon enough, the ball comes sailing at my head. Without time to think, I try to set it up, but the only thing I do successfully is jam my finger. Leah manages to get under the crappily-set ball and return it decently, but she still glares at me when the play is over. A couple other people snicker lightly, and I do my best to ignore them.

"You alright, Mansingh?" Ms. Woods calls from the sidelines.

I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, even though my finger is throbbing.

"Stop the gigling," she warns. "Everyone has different fortes."

"Obviously," Stacy murmurs.

"I heard that," Ms. Woods snaps, turning cold eyes to Stacy. Stacy immediately shuts up. "Now unless you girls want some killers, be nice to each other."

The next thing I know, we've rotated several times, and the ball is now mine to serve.

_Dammit_.

I awkwardly toss the ball up and try to hit it over like Leah and Stacy, but the ball goes about ten feet before dropping to the floor, still on our side of the net.

"Try again," Ms. Woods calls. She'd been giving extra tries to those who didn't play.

I try again and end with the same result, so she tells me to try underhand. I try, but the only thing I manage to do is completely miss the court all together and bounce it off the wall ten feet to my right. The other players roll their eyes and laugh lightly, too soft for Ms. Woods to hear.

We soon move on and Jenna is serving for the other team. She jump serves the ball and it flies over the net towards me. I don't have time to do anything other than throw my arms out, but the ball just bounces off my arms and whacks me in the face, just as the bell rings. I stumble backwards as several people start laughing at me before heading back to the locker room. I think I hear one girl mutter "idiot" as she walks off the court. Ms. Woods leaves, too, and when I think I'm the only one in the gym, I pick the ball up and chuck it across the room with a choked, frustrated exhale. The ball ricochets off the opposite wall and rolls off somewhere. As I'm heading towards the locker room, Ms. Woods meets me at the door; from her position, she probably saw my angry outburst. I quickly wipe away the few tears that have formed from a combination of humiliation and getting hit in the face with a ball rather hard.

"Natara, are you okay?" she asks gently, worry in her voice. I sniff and look down, still nursing my injured finger and pride. I swallow hard to steady my voice.

"Yeah," I say quietly, even though it's a total lie. "I'm fine."

"If they're bothering you, you can let me know," she continues.

I shake my head. "No, they're... I'm fine." She looks at my doubtfully, but chooses to let it go.

"Okay," she says like she doesn't quite believe me. "Let me know, though, okay? You don't have to take that from them."

I nod and force a polite smile. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't like asking for help. I'm about to enter the locker room to change, when Ms. Woods stops me once more.

"And Natara?"

"Yes?" I answer, turning around.

"Try to ignore them. You're doing fine," she smiles, giving my shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze.

"Thanks," I manage weakly, flashing her a genuinely grateful smile.

I hear the other girls about to exit, so I quickly wipe my eyes, look down, and hurry past them to get changed so I can meet my mother outside. As I'm scurrying through the halls, eyes still blurry from holding back tears, I turn a corner too fast and run into someone, hard.

"Whoa!" the other person exclaims in surprise. I just about fall over, but a hand gruffly grabs me, catching me right before I'm about to embarrass myself further. I look up and Mal is standing there. He's still holding onto my arm when I glance up. He stares into my eyes for a moment before quickly letting go and looking down.

"I'm sorry," I apologize shakily.

"No problem," he dismisses, again looking down. He then looks at me, makes eye contact, and asks, "Uh, are you okay?"

I'm not sure if he was asking if I was okay because I look like I'm about to burst into tears, or simply because we just full-on ran into each other.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, choosing the latter interpretation to answer.

"Well..." he starts awkwardly. "See ya' later."

"Yeah," I mumble as he walks the opposite way. I hurry out to the parking lot and find my mother's car idling in front of the school.

My mother greets me with her customary, "How was school?"

"Pretty good," I lie. I really hope that one day soon, I won't have to lie when my mother asks me a question as simple as how my day was. The lump in the back of my throat grows bigger, and I have to swallow several times before adding, "I'm really tired, though."

"Understandable," she says. "If you don't have much homework, you can rest in your room a while before dinner. I have to run out with Neha, and your father won't be home for a few hours."

My mother drops me off at home, and I immediately rush to my room. I hate crying, but I let some of the tears I'd been holding in for the past hour, finally come out. Just then, I hear my phone vibrate; I panic when I see my mother's name lit up on the screen.

I breathe in and out several times and wipe at my eyes, even though she can't see me. "Hello?" I answer more confidently than I feel.

"Hi, sweetie," she answers. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, you're fine," I reply.

"I was just wondering if you needed anything from the store," she says. "I'm at Costco."

I think for a brief moment. "No," I conclude. "I'm good. Thanks."

"Okay. Call me if you think of anything. I love you," she adds before hanging up.

My father comes home later. After dinner, as we're sitting in the living room, he asks me how my day was. It turns out the tears weren't done, because I quickly said, "Good, but I'm really tired. I think I might go to bed early," before excusing myself to my room.

The events of the past few weeks play back in my head, and it's all I can do not to make too much noise as I try to stifle my sobs. Suddenly, the sound of gentle knocks at my door startle me.

_Shoot!_

I don't have time to wipe my eyes and erase signs of crying, so I pretend I'm asleep and bury my face in my pillow. When I don't answer, I hear the door slowly ease open. Someone turns the light off, then closes the door. When I'm sure they're gone, I sit up and dry my eyes, forcing down the rest of the tears that want to come out. I suddenly realize I'm exhausted, so change into more comfortable clothes and fall asleep for real.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! Well, I've been busy with family-oriented plans the past couple days, and I spent the entire day today at the beach. (Building up that tan for senior pictures, ya' feel?) Here's the next chapter, though!**

**Also, I'm not sure if anyone noticed... But I took Drew and Bethany from prior stories of mine. I named Nat's best friend Bethany, so I used the same name. Drew was also a criminal in one of my stories. (I beg of you, please don't go back and read it-it was written years ago, and it's terrible compared to now, haha.)**

**Anyways, enjoy! And thanks again to Molly and Christie for the nice reviews. (:**

* * *

Two months later, the warm summer sun has been replaced by cool breezes and colorful leaves. Although I love autumn, my enjoyment of school has stayed about the same, averaging at about three out of a hundred. We have finally finished the volleyball unit in gym and are now moving on to cross country. I'm not in cross country, but I'm pretty decent at running, so that's a bit of a relief. It's not quite as embarrassing.

Things had been starting to look up, actually, until this week. Aside from sitting alone at lunch, being chosen last for teams, and being generally invisible, everything else seems to be going wrong. At this point in time, I can't tell if I'd rather be picked on, or completely ignored. Either way didn't feel very good, but I don't see any other choice but to take it.

Today, however, after tripping up the stairs (in front of what felt like half the student body), finding a note in my locker that read "loser" on it, being either ignored or prodded at during every single hour, and then being relentlessly picked on by Drew Bowden during AP Physics, I've just about lost all resolve to maintain my calm facade. I just want to go home, but I still have to live through another hour of who-the-hell-knows-what in P.E.

As I'm walking out of AP Physics and biting my lip hard to avoid bursting into tears, I see Annabelle, Katie, and the rest of their group of friends standing by a row of lockers. Again, I've somehow managed to avoid them for a couple weeks, but I guess I can't hide forever.

I try to walk past without them seeing me, but as I hear a loud, "Oh, it's you again," from Katie, I know I haven't evaded them this time. I make one last attempt to quickly walk past them, but Katie darts in front of me so that I run into her. "Hey, watch it!" she yells in an overly-obnoxious tone. She then shoves me against a row of lockers, causing me to lose my balance and fall, landing hard on my right arm as my shoulder slams into the locker again. My book drops out of my hands and lands with a thud on the floor; my entire binder hits the ground, the metal clasps open, and papers fly everywhere; my pencil case, which I hadn't noticed wasn't completely zipped, falls to the ground followed by the skittering of pens and pencils across the linoleum. Tears spring to my eyes as Katie and her group of friends burst into laughter. "Oh, and you dropped your stuff," Katie taunts as her friends erupt into fits of laughter again. Annabelle stays silent and bites her lip, but I hardly notice or care anymore.

I'm about to reach over to start picking up my stuff when I realize I just can't hold back the tears any longer. I've had it; I can't take this crap anymore. As a sob escapes my throat and the tears start spilling out, I clap a hand to my mouth, turn, and rush away towards the nearest bathroom, completely abandoning all my things. I think I pass Bethany and some of her friends as I streak towards the bathroom, but I don't stop to check, and I don't care. Thankfully there's nobody in here; not that I would care if there was. I'm so far past caring.

I rush to the far corner at the end of the row of sinks, where I lean against the counter and let a sob escape my throat. I glance up at my reflection in the mirror, but I can hardly even bear to look. Tears and mascara stain my face, and I can barely even bring myself to look my own damn reflection in the eye. When I finally do, the emotions there scare the hell out of me.

That's when I realize how truly lonely I am. I have a few acquaintances, but I have no real friends. In fact, I have more people that appear to hate my guts for no apparent reason at all, than I have people I'd even consider acquaintances, let alone friends. I have nobody to talk to; I can't even bring myself to tell my own mother. Nobody seems to care, and if anybody does, they certainly aren't showing it.

Nobody understands, but then again, I hardly understand.

I cover my face with my hands and slide down the wall as tears spill through my fingers. The large bathroom makes my sobs echo off the walls, making me sound louder than I'm actually being. I'm not typically this emotional; this is the first time I've cried this hard since I was about eight. But all the emotional stress I've held in for the past few months finally comes out in one big, ugly wave that I'm just about drowning in.

I hear footsteps enter the bathroom, walk near me, and stop, but I'm in so much pain that I hardly notice, let alone care.

"Natara?" a voice calls softly. I hear it, but I don't answer right away. I can't; I don't trust my voice or any other part of me right now.

Whoever is in front of me takes another step closer and crouches down beside me. "Natara?" she repeats again. I'm still crying, but I manage to calm down enough to look up. My vision is blurry, but I manage to make out the figure in front of me: Bethany.

"Aww," she murmurs quietly when I make feeble, watery eye contact. I think for a moment that I might be done crying, but nope; I hold her gaze for another couple seconds before I burst into tears again. I lean my elbows on my knees and sob into my hands, completely screwing my attempt to stop the waterworks. She lets me cry for a couple seconds before reaching over and wrapping me in a slightly awkward yet tight hug. I only hesitate a moment before returning the gesture, allowing myself to cry while she gently rubs my back.

Once I've settled down, she pulls away and allows me to wipe my eyes on my sleeves.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbles gently once my sobs have subsided to occasional shudder-y sniffles. "I had no idea they were being so mean to you. I would've said something."

I sniff. "It's okay," I say shakily. "Not your battle to fight."

"No, it's not okay, " she disputes with a frown. "They're making you feel like crap; you don't deserve that."

I wipe a few more tears off of my face. "Well, you're the first person who's seemed to give a single damn about me all year, so I'm not complaining."

"Do you have any friends?" she asks carefully after a moment of relative-silence. Her tone of voice isn't mean; she's genuinely asking a question, so I give a genuine answer.

"No," I choke. "Not really, anyways. Just acquaintances, I guess."

"Well, now you have me," she smiles. I manage a smile back.

"I'll switch my lunch and sit with you," she offers. "And we took the same classes, for the most part; I'm sure I could switch into the same hours if I–"

"Oh, no," I stammer quickly. "You... You don't have to do that. I'm... used to being alone, anyways."

"I know I don't have to," she says. "I want to."

I pause before nodding in acceptance. "Okay. Thanks, Bethany," I add with a genuine smile.

She smiles back and gives my tear-soaked hand a comforting squeeze, but says nothing. I squeeze back gratefully. She stands and helps me up, grabs a few paper towels, dampens them with cool water, and offers them to me.

"Thanks," I say, accepting it and cleaning up my face. She offers me her water bottle, too, from which I take a grateful sip. Aside from a few stray tears, I finally feel like I'm done crying, when I hear another pair of footsteps quickly approaching the bathroom. I look up and am surprised to see who stands there.

In the door way stands Annabelle. Tears stream down her face, and my books and papers are neatly stacked in her arms.

"Natara," she chokes. Surprised, I take a step towards her, but say nothing. My mind flashes back to a time when we were younger, when she showed up at my front door in a similar state. Her dog had just died at the time.

"Look," she continues, swiftly wiping her eyes and setting my stuff on the counter. "I'm sure you're pissed, and you have every right to be. I've been acting like a jerk the past few months. But I'm so, so sorry. I... I tried to fit in with Katie and her friends. I just... I was just so lonely, and Katie and them seemed cool... But I realize now that I... changed, and I turned into a jerk, and I'm so sorry. Katie yelled at me for picking up your stuff, and... well, we're not friends any more, if we even were to begin with. But I just... I'm so sorry, I feel so bad for acting like that. I don't expect you to want to be friends with me, or even want to be near me for that matter..." She takes a few more tentative steps closer until we're only a couple feet apart. "But please," she continues, fighting hard to keep her voice steady, "will you forgive me?" I glance back at Bethany, and she just smiles. Then, without hesitation, I step forward, cross the space between us, and wrap her in a hug. She clearly isn't expecting it, because it takes a couple moments before I feel her hug back. When she does, though, she starts bawling.

"I'm so sorry," she repeats over and over. "I'm so sorry." She's shaking in my arms, and for a minute, I'm afraid we'll both end up toppling over.

"It's okay, Annabelle," I say quietly. "It's okay, I forgive you."

It is now that I realize that we have more in common than I thought. She was only trying to hang out with Katie because she felt like she had no one else. I guess we were both just wanting to feel accepted.

A few moments later, she pulls back and wipes her eyes. "Thank you," she chokes with a smile.

"Of course," I smile back.

Just then, the bell rings. "Oh, shoot," I say, turning to Bethany. "I'm sorry, I kind of made you late."

"Don't apologize," she replies back with a smile. "It's just English, and I was planning to head over to the office right now, anyways, to see about getting my schedule changed."

"Thanks," I repeat again.

"Anytime," she smiles back.

Once Bethany leaves, I turn back to Annabelle, who is wiping her eyes off on her sleeve. I help her gently wipe off the smeared mascara and clean up a little before we go to lunch.

"Hey, Natara?" she calls as we're leaving.

I turn around. "Yeah?"

"Will you, um... sit with me?" she asks.

"Of course," I say, surprised. "But what about Katie and them?"

"Katie's an ass," she mutters. I can't help but laugh, and she joins in. "Seriously, though. I don't know why I wanted to be friends with her. But you should know, she was a jerk to a lot of people. You're not the only person she was mean to," she adds in a quieter voice.

"It felt like it," I return softly. She looks down but says nothing.

"Come on," I say more lightheartedly. "I'm starving!"

She laughs and follows me out of the bathroom and down to the lunch room. Together, we grab trays with food and walk to the table I usually sit at, doing our best to evade Katie and her friends. We exchange good-natured chit-chat as we eat, and I can't help but think how nice it is not to have to eat alone.

* * *

Two weeks later, I sit in AP Physics. I anxiously chat with Bethany as we wait for our tests to be handed back.

"Ugh, that test was a bitch," Bethany mutters to me as several people receive their tests back and groan.

"I know," I groan. "I'm nervous."

"So am I," she admits. "Frick," she mutters as Mrs. Roberts approaches her with a flipped-over test.

"Nice job," Mrs. Roberts comments with a smile.

Bethany quickly flips the test over. "Thank God," she breathes with a quiet sigh of relief. She shows me the paper with a ninety-three circled at the top.

"Nice!" I say with a smile. Mrs. Roberts hands me mine and repeats the praise. I exhale in relief at the ninety-four.

"Smarty-pants," Bethany teases with a smirk. I laugh. "Good job, though," she adds sincerely.

"Thanks," I smile. I turn to my other side where Emma is smiling broadly at her one-hundred percent.

"Whoa, nice!" I say with a smile. "That's awesome!"

"Thanks," she replies. "You did really well, too; you and Bethany are whooping the upperclassmen's asses."

I laugh, then turn back to Bethany as we continue our chit-chat. I watch out of the corner of my eye as Mal reluctantly takes his paper, peeks at the score, and mutters to himself. A break comes in my conversation with Bethany, and Mal surprises me by turning in my direction.

"How'd you do?" he asks curiously.

"Ninety-four," I say quietly, blushing slightly in embarrassment. Good grades were almost as awkward to talk about as poor grades sometimes.

"Typical," he sighs. Like last time, though, he doesn't sound mean. I still can't put my finger on how exactly he sounds.

"How about you?" I ask before thinking. He probably doesn't want to share.

"Fifty-four," he mutters flatly.

I don't really know what to say, so I stammer, "Oh, uh... I'm sorry..."

"Whatever, I'm used to it," he shrugs before turning away.

I exchange a questioning glance with Bethany, but we continue our conversation like nothing happened.

As the bell rings, dismissing us from Physics, I notice Mal taking extra time in picking up his things. Bethany and I are usually the last ones out of the classroom, but Mal looks like he's trying to give us a run for our money today. He leaves the room, but I can see him hovering by the door. As I walk out the door and past him, he lightly taps my shoulder.

"Uh, Natara?" he says hesitantly.

Surprised, I turn around and face him. "Uh, yeah?" He awkwardly glances at Bethany, but says nothing. Taking the hint, I turn to her. "I'll catch up with you in P.E.," I say with a smile. She says nothing, but she nods and smirks mysteriously before turning away and continuing down the hall. "Yes?" I prompt, now that we're "alone."

"I, uh, was wondering..." he starts nervously, "If you'd, uh... help me out with Physics sometime?"

I narrow my eyes slightly. "If you're asking for my ans-"

He interrupts me. "I don't want your answers," he dismisses, brow momentarily furrowing. "I just, uh... need some help with the subject. Like, how to do it, and, uh, actually achieve the answers... Eventually on my own."

"You mean, like... tutor you?" I ask. His face flushes in embarrassment.

"Well, uh, yeah, I guess you could call it that... If that's cool with you, I mean."

"Sure," I smile.

"Is Saturday okay?" he asks, still, for whatever reason, fidgeting nervously. "We can, uh, just go to the library or wherever."

"Sounds good," I reply. "Library's fine. What time?"

"Uh... noon?"

"Okay. I'll see you then."

He nods, and begins to walk off before quickly turning back. "And thanks," he adds, actually flashing a real smile. It's a small one, granted, but it seems real.

Later, I catch up with Bethany in the locker room.

"So, what did he want?" she asks eagerly as she pulls her gym shirt over her head.

"He wanted me to tutor him in physics," I state, changing into athletic shorts and tossing my jeans to the floor.

"No way," Bethany laughs. "He didn't just ask for answers, did he?"

I shake my head in denial. "No, he actually wanted to know how to do the stuff."

"Wow," she says, "that's a surprise. Normally people just ask for answers and move on."

I nod in agreement as we both finish up changing, and head out to the gym.

After the final bell rings, I grab my bag from my locker, say goodbye to Bethany, and walk outside to meet my mother. Upon closing the car door behind me, my mom asks her customary question. "How was your day?"

"Good!" I pipe, happy that I finally don't have to lie.

She glances over at me and chuckles. "You seem happy," she observes.

"I just had a good day," I return.

"How'd your Physics test go?" she questions, backing out of the parking lot.

"Ninety-four," I answer with a grin.

My mother smiles at me. "Atta-girl."

"Oh, and speaking of Physics," I say, hoping my mother doesn't try to read too much into what I'm about to say. "A guy in my class wanted me to tutor him at the library on Saturday," I tell her. "And no," I add before she can ask, "he doesn't just want the answers."

She glances over at me, but keeps driving, easing on the gas as the light in front of us turns green. "Did you agree to it?"

"Yeah," I answer, suddenly kind of embarrassed. "Is, uh, that alright?"

"I don't see a problem with it," she responds. "You're in a public place, after all. Most people don't try anything dumb there."

"Mom!" I exclaim, cheeks reddening a little. "I'm not even really friends with the kid. He just asked me after class."

My mother laughs. "I'm just giving you a hard time, sweetie," she smiles. "It sounds fine with me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, guys! Sorry it's been a while since my last update-I've been working a lot, and I haven't remembered to update. Whoops.**

**Anyways, here is chapter four! And you might notice that one of the character's names is Emma. I actually wrote this before SCT Emma Lapointe ever came into the game. It wasn't what I was intending, but after I saw the name in the game (rhymed it, aw yeah), I automatically thought of her as the Emma in this story. Think of her as Emma Lapointe if you want-it doesn't really impact the story. It was just ironic.**

**Also, thanks to everyone for the reviews! Enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

On Saturday morning, my mother knocks on my door.

"Oh!" she remarks when she sees I'm hardly stirring. "Aren't you meeting that boy at the library?"

"Yeah," I mutter groggily, not opening my eyes. "At noon."

"Well, it's eleven-twenty," she states, "and—"

I shoot up in bed. "Crap!" I exclaim, quickly hopping out.

"Just be ready to go soon," she advises.

I nod as she closes the door. I then scurry to my closet and pull on a light blue blouse and pair of jeans. I hastily brush my teeth and apply some mascara before grabbing my backpack and nearly flying down the stairs. As I rummage around in the cupboards for something to eat, I check my phone for the time. I have about twenty minutes to eat and be over to the public library, but it takes ten minutes to get there, so I settle on a granola bar and glass of milk.

Just as I'm about to yell for my mom, she walks down the stairs, keys in hand.

"Wanna drive?" she asks, jingling the keys and smiling. I had just gotten my instructional permit recently, but I hadn't been allowed to practice much yet.

"Yes!" I exclaim excitedly, grabbing my bag and the keys from my mom. She laughs as she follows me outside, strapping Neha into the back before sliding into the passenger seat. Sobering up a bit, I buckle myself up and twist the key into the ignition to start the car.

"Careful now," my mother reminds me as I begin to slowly back out of the garage.

Soon enough I've pulled out into the street, and I slowly ease my foot down on the accelerator. The car jerks a little, but my mother doesn't complain. Based on the three other times I've driven since obtaining my permit, she's only verbally protested if I'm about to do something incredibly stupid.

"You don't have to brake so soon," my mother chuckles as I slowly inch up to another car that's a good twenty feet away still.

"I don't wanna hit them!" I protest, letting my foot off the brake long enough to come closer to the next car's bumper.

About ten minutes later, I cautiously pull into the library's parking lot. I'm not sure what kind of car Mal drives, so I have no idea if he's here yet; but I park the car, grab my bag, and step outside.

"Call me when you're done," reminds my mom as she stands and switches back to the driver's side.

"Okay!" I chime as I head into the library. I take a brief look around, but it doesn't look like Mal's here yet. I lean against the wall near the front of the library, messing around on my phone as I wait for Mal to get here. In fact, I'm so engrossed in a solitaire game that I don't notice as Mal walks in and clears his throat, trying to summon my attention.

"Uh, Natara?" he repeats, and my head jerks up.

"Oh! Hi! I was, um, playing a game. Sorry," I stutter in embarrassment.

"It's fine," he shrugs.

"Uh, wanna find somewhere to sit?" I ask, cocking my head towards a small clearing of tables and chairs.

"Sure," he replies, following me as I find a table in the corner. I drop my bag down next to a chair, then sit. Mal follows and we sit there awkwardly for a moment before I speak.

"So, uh... What do you need help on?" I ask him.

He leans over and pulls out his AP Physics textbook, a notebook, and a pencil, as do I.

"The problem set she assigned today in class," he replies, flipping through the book to find the right page.

"Okay," I acknowledge. "What part?"

"Uh, kinda everything," he admits with a slight blush as I glance up at him. "I, uh, don't really get any of it. At all."

I suppress a sigh. "Alright, well... Did you read the pages that go with the assignment?"

He nods. "Yeah, twice."

"And you still don't get it?" I question, trying not to sound mean. I had figured it out from one read, though I do know that I have an easier time absorbing information than others. As made clear in pretty much every day of P.E., I've been gifted with academic abilities, not athletic ones.

"No," he mutters, looking down sheepishly. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I reassure him as I click my pencil several times to get some lead out. "So... we start with the first one, I guess?"

"Sure," he agrees.

I flip open to the correct page and softly read the question out loud. "A uniform magnetic field B points up the page, as shown above. A loop of wire carrying a clockwise current is placed at rest in this field, and then let go. Which of the following describes the motion of the wire immediately after it is let go?" I quickly study the answers. "A, the wire will expand slightly in all directions... B, the wire will contract slightly in all directions... C, the wire will rotate with the top part coming out of the page... or D, the wire will rotate clockwise but remain in the plane of the page."

I think for a moment.

_If I use the right-hand rule for the force on the wire... Then the forces exerted at the different parts of the wire will make it rotate and come off the page. So, if I'm thinking correctly, the answer is C!_

"Have a guess?" I ask him before I check my answer.

He skims the answers again. "Uh, D?" he guesses, looking doubtful. "'Cause if the current is going clock-wise, wouldn't the wire turn clock-wise, too?"

"I think it's C," I inform him, "But hold on, lemme check."

I flip to the back of the book where the answers are given, and check to make sure my solution is correct.

"Yep," I confirm after a few moments.

"Why?" he asks, looking confused.

"Well, since the current is flowing clock-wise, we'll use the right-hand rule. Do you, uh, remember what that is?"

He nods. "I think so."

"Alright, so we'll use the right-hand rule. Since the current is flowing along the magnetic field lines," I explain, pointing at the diagram, "those parts of the wire won't experience any force. The top-most portion of the wire will experience a force pulling it out of the page, and the bottom part of the wire will experience a force going into the page. So you're correct that the wire will rotate clock-wise, but since there's a force acting on the top-most part of the wire, the top of the wire will come out of the page. Do you get that?"

I glance up at Mal to see if he understood, but a blank look dons his face. "I, uh... Could you repeat that? Please? And, uh, maybe a little slower?"

I suppress another sigh and re-explain in slightly simplified terms. I make sure to slow down a bit; I do have a tendency to speak quickly when I explain things that I understand.

"Any better?" I ask hopefully after explaining again.

"Kind of," he mutters, biting the eraser of his pencil and not making eye contact.

_I'll take that as a no._

"What part don't you understand?" I question now.

"Like, why is the force pulling the wire out of the page instead of just, like, clock-wise?"

"The right-hand rule," I repeat patiently, showing him with my right hand.

"Ooohhh," he declares, understanding flashing in his eyes. "Okay, got it."

"Good," I say with a smile. "Next one?"

He nods.

"Okay... A loop of wire is located inside a uniform magnetic field, as shown above..."

Nearly three hours later, Mal and I have finished the tenth and last problem. Well, Mal finished three hours later; I finished in the first hour-and-a-half, and spent the latter half of the time explaining things to Mal or doodling in the margins as Mal struggled.

"Finally," Mal sighs as he closes his textbook with a bit more force than necessary. We simultaneously stand and begin to gather our things. "Thanks for the help," he adds with a half-smile, "and, uh, sorry it took me so long. I'm kinda dumb in general, but I'm particularly terrible at science. I'm sure you have other things you could be doing."

_Actually, no, not really._

"You're welcome," I reply, returning the smile. "And you're not dumb; you just need a little more one-on-one. You did the problems," I add pointedly, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Yeah," he mutters sardonically, "after three hours of you repeating everything about ten times each."

"But you still completed them," I persist as we walk side-by-side to the door. "Even if I did explain some things, you worked them out on your own."

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugs. "But thanks," he adds appreciatively. I smile in return.

As we reach the doors, I pull out my phone to text my mom.

_Done_, I type, _Can you please pick me up?_

"Do you, uh, need a ride home?" he questions as he pulls his keys out from his pocket.

I look up, surprised. "Oh, uh, no... my mom's picking me up. But thanks," I add with a polite smile.

"Sure," he nods. "Thanks again for the help. Oh, and, uh... Would you mind maybe helping me out more often? If that doesn't bother you, of course. I mean, it was helpful, and Mrs. Roberts isn't teaching me crap, so..." He trails off awkwardly, cheeks flushing the slightest shade of red as he uncomfortably meets my surprised gaze.

"Oh, well, sure!" I reply, hiding my slight surprise. "Just, uh... Talk to me at school when you need me?"

"Sounds good," he replies. He lingers awkwardly for a moment before turning to the door. "Well, see ya'. And thanks again."

"See ya'," I echo as he turns, pushes the door open, and walks towards his car in the parking lot.

While I wait for my mother, I occupy myself with absentmindedly wandering through the young adult aisles.

Suddenly, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

_In the parking lot_, reads the text from my mother.

I adjust the strap on my shoulder, then walk out to the parking lot where my mother's car is idling.

"What took so long?" she asks as I climb in and close the door.

"He didn't understand anything," I sigh, trying not to laugh.

"Well, I trust my brilliant young lady helped him, then?" she continues.

"Yeah," I chime with a smile. "I think he got it, for the most part. And he asked if I could help him more often."

My mother eyes me with a slightly amused look.

"Why're you looking at me like that?" I ask, brow furrowed slightly.

"Have you eaten since breakfast?" she asks, ignoring my question.

I shake my head. "Nope, I'm hungry."

"Subway sound all right? The neighbor's watching Neha because I had to run some errands, so I have time to make a quick stop."

"Yep," I agree, "sounds great!"

* * *

A week later, Bethany and I are chatting in Physics class as Mrs. Roberts hands back quizzes we took the other day on magnetism. Bethany and I receive ours with similar scores, ninety-six and ninety-four, respectively.

From in front of me, Drew turns around and sees the score circled on my paper. "Nerd," he comments in a low, sneering voice.

"Hey, leave her alone," Bethany scowls. She glances up and spots the score on Drew's paper as Mrs. Roberts hands it back to him.

"Nice forty-percent," Bethany scoffs after Mrs. Roberts is out of ear-shot. Drew just scowls, turning away.

"Thanks," I laugh as she smiles smugly.

Still kitty-corner, Mal reluctantly accepts his from the teacher.

"Better," is all she comments as she continues to pass out papers.

He flips it over, then turns to me. "Better," he echoes, flashing me the seventy-three circled in red, "but still not great."

"But it's still better," I remind him optimistically. "Especially compared to the fifty-four from last time."

"Yeah," he shrugs. He acts like he doesn't care, but I can tell he's secretly at least a little excited that he got over a sixty. "I suppose you got an a hundred or something?"

"Ninety-four," I correct with a light laugh.

"Same difference," he says. We stare at each other for a moment before he turns away.

Bethany is smirking slightly at me as I turn back to her.

"What?" I question, remembering my mother's similar look. "Why is everyone looking at me like that lately?"

She just smiles, ignoring the question and turning to Emma. Sighing, I join their conversation.

After class, I notice Mal hovering by the door again as I gather my things. Bethany notices, too, and shoots me that same smirk before heading off towards the gym.

"Hi," I say as he steps out from behind the door-frame.

"Oh, uh, hey," he utters like he didn't expect me to notice him so soon.

"Need some help again?" I guess, shifting my weight to my right leg.

He nods, slightly sheepish. "The waves thing is confusing the hell outta me, but if I do decent on the next test, my grade will probably go up to a C-minus."

_Go _up_ to a C-minus?_

I laugh lightly, then offer, "Same time, same place?"

"Sounds good," he accepts.

As was seeming to become an awkward habit, we stand there and say nothing for a moment before we both take a step, as if to walk off. The maneuver would have worked just fine if Mal hadn't stepped to his left and I hadn't stepped to my right. We accidentally run into each other, causing us both to quickly step back clumsily.

"Oops, sorry," I mutter, glancing up as his blue eyes meet mine. We try again, but we both step in each other's paths again. We awkwardly, yet unintentionally, do this another few times, before we both step back with an embarrassed and exasperated grunt.

"Dammit, sorry," Mal curses, taking several steps to the right and clear out of my way.

"It's okay," I say with a nervous laugh. "My bad."

We make eye contact once more before we both turn and walk off. Only now do I notice that my cheeks feel warm and that I'm probably blushing.

_Really, Natara? Dammit._


	5. Chapter 5

That Saturday, Mal and I meet at the library again. We spend about the same amount of time there, though there are a few more problems in the given set than last time. I'm starting to get tired of explaining things, but we're on our last problem, so I push on. I read the problem through and quickly work out my solution before checking it in the back.

"Holy hell," Mal exclaims in astonishment as I solve the problem, box the answer, and validate the solution in the back—all in a few minutes. "How are you so fast? It takes me, like, a year to finish one problem."

I laugh. "It just takes practice," I say modestly. "It's not like I came out of the womb with a science book." This earns me a laugh from Mal.

He furrows his brow as he works out a solution that is about nine numbers off from the actual answer.

"Ugh, this is stupid!" he mutters, tossing down his pencil. "I keep getting the wrong answer. How'd you get sixty-six?"

I explain again. "... So since the pipe's length equals three-quarters of the total wavelength, the total length of the pipe is sixty-six centimeters," I conclude. Understanding flashes through Mal's eyes, which I just now notice are a very nice shade of blue. They resemble the color of the ocean.

"Ahh, so that's what I did wrong." Mal erases part of his work, re-calculates it, and circles the now-correct solution.

"There ya' go," I smile.

"I think I'm starting to get it," Mal admits with a hint of relief in his voice.

"I think so, too," I affirm.

"Hopefully," he adds. "The exam on this is Wednesday."

"If you wanna review once more before the test," I begin with a little hesitation, "we can meet after school or something. If you'd like to, of course," I quickly add.

"That would be great," he replies, flashing a half-smile. "I, uh, if it's not too much trouble, that is."

"It's not a problem," I assure him as we head towards the door.

"Is your mom getting you again, or do you need a ride home?" he asks.

"My mom is—" Just then, my phone buzzes audibly in my pocket. I slide it out and read a text from my mom.

_I'm at an appointment with Neha, so I can't pick you up for another hour. Can the boy drive you home if you're not done by then?_

"Actually, uh, my mom's at an appointment with my sister, so..." I stammer ungracefully. "If it's not an inconvenience..."

"Nah, it's fine," he assures me, grabbing his keys.

We walk outside to where Mal's car is parked. The afternoon sunlight immediately blinds me, making me squint against the bright beams.

"You can toss your bag in the back," Mal mumbles as he unlocks the door. I comply, then climb in the passenger seat.

He twists the key into the ignition, and loud, hard rock music immediately floods the speakers. I wince and instinctively throw him a "turn the damn music down" look.

"Oops, sorry," he mutters after twisting the dial back down to a healthy decibel. "How far do you live?"

"About ten minutes," I answer. "Just follow main street for a few miles, and I'll tell you where to turn."

He nods, then pulls out of the parking lot. For such a rough persona, he's a surprisingly gentle driver.

Just then, my phone vibrates against my thigh, and I fish it out of my pocket, answering the call on the last ring.

"Hello?" I chime into it. Mal glances over, sees I'm on the phone, and turns back to the road.

"Hi!" comes my mother's voice from the other line. I hear Neha shouting some form of a protest in the background. "Neha has to get some shots, so I can't talk long; I'll have to hold her down. Are you able to get a ride?"

I laugh. "Yeah, I'm on my way home."

"Oh, good," she replies as another angry squeal from Neha erupts. "I need to go, your sister's throwing a fit. I should be home a little while after you."

"All right, sounds good!"

"Love you!"

"Love you, too," I reply before hanging up.

A few moments later, Mal stops at a red light, and I notice he is looking at me.

"What?" I inquire, tossing him an odd look.

"Oh, uh, nothing," he mutters quickly, turning back to the road.

I shrug, letting it go. A couple minutes later, he asks, "How old is your sister?"

"Almost two," I answer. He nods. "Do you have any siblings?" I continue, attempting to keep the conversation alive.

"Yeah, just a sister," he answers, easing on the accelerator as the light turns green. "She's twenty-one."

"Oh," I comment, unsure of what else to say. "That's cool."

After a few moments, he asks, "Are you close with your mom?

Taken by surprise, I manage, "Well, uh, yeah, I guess... Closer than my dad, anyways. I think he mainly just wishes my sister or I were a boy," I add in a slightly-joking tone. Though my father has never specifically said it, I've always caught little hints of the thought, thrown unconsciously into his speech. He tried to get me to play baseball (not softball) when I was younger, but it quickly became apparent that I had little-to-no athletic abilities when it came to sports. I can run, but I cannot do anything that requires a ball. The second Neha learns to walk on her own, I'm sure he'll try it with her, too.

He casts me a questioning glance, so I clarify. "Family business heirs," I state with a sigh, as if that explains everything.

"Ah," he says, seeming to understand despite my vague statement.

"How 'bout you?" I ask. Come to think of it, I'd never heard him talk about his parents. Not that I've really talked about mine, either, but my mother had called a couple times while in his presence, so at least he knows they exist.

He seems to stiffen a little, and I begin to regret the question.

"Um... With my mom, yeah," he answers a bit cryptically.

"But not with your dad?" I press lightly.

"Well, considering that he's currently serving thirty-five-to-life for corruption, racketeering, and extortion," he snaps, turning his head to angrily glare at me, "no, we're not exactly best buds."

_Good Lord, Natara, why can't you just keep your damn mouth shut?_

"Oh! I, uh... I'm sorry," I stammer in shock. "I... I didn't realize..."

The momentary anger fades from his eyes and he sighs, looking even more tired than he did before.

"It's fine," he mumbles, stopping again at a red light. He glances over at me. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped. You didn't know."

"It's okay," I reply with a reassuring smile. He manages a slight smile back. "Don't worry about it."

We don't talk for the next couple minutes; the heavy bass of the music takes over.

_Ugh, how can anyone stand to listen to this crap?_

"Turn left at the next light," I instruct as we approach the turn-off.

"Okay." Mal flips his left turn-signal on and pulls into the left-turn lane, waiting for the light to turn.

I guide him through several more turns as we enter my neighborhood. I'm suddenly overly-aware of the fact that I don't exactly live in the poor part of town. Most of the houses around here are a little more ritzy than your average living facility.

"Geez," is all he comments as he pulls into my driveway to let me out. I don't know how to reply to that, so I don't.

"Thanks for the ride," I say as I slide out and grab my bag from the backseat.

"No problem," he replies. "Thanks for the help."

"Sure," I smile. We make momentary eye contact before I shut the car door and fish out my house keys. As I disappear inside, I hear Mal's car rumbling off down the street.

I open the door to an empty house. My mother and Neha are apparently still out, and my father won't be home from work for another couple hours. Unsure of what to do, I head to the living room, collapse on the couch, and flick on the TV, where I perch until my mom walks in the door with a sleeping Neha in hand.

"And I thought _you_ were bad with shots," she utters in exasperation, tossing her purse down with little regard to where it might land.

"What happened?" I laugh, turning off the television. I stand and follow her to Neha's room.

"She took one look at the needle and screamed for a good ten minutes before she even got on the table," she starts as she lays my sister down in her crib. "Then it took another ten minutes of coaxing her to let the doctor roll up her sleeve. And I'm sure you can imagine how the rest turned out."

"Was I like that?" I inquire with amusement as we walk out of the room, softly closing the door behind us.

"You weren't too happy about it," she tells me with a smile, "but you weren't protesting quite to the decibel Neha accomplished. She's gonna be a loud one, that's for sure," my mother adds with a soft chuckle.

"Are you hungry?" she asks as we reach the kitchen. "Your father has to work late, so he won't be home 'til after dinner. He said to go ahead and eat."

"Again?" I complain with a sigh, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"I'm afraid so," she mutters, exhaling heavily. "Is spaghetti good?"

"Sounds great," I reply, suddenly realizing how hungry I am. "I'll be upstairs."

My mother nods. "I'll call you when it's ready."


	6. Chapter 6

**Heya! Well, here we are with Chapter Six! Just a warning, I'm going to be pretty busy starting in August. I'll write when I can, but volleyball is about to take over. Also, this is irrelevant, but wish me luck—I'm working a double shift tomorrow and next Saturday. Tomorrow's is 10 hours and next Saturday is 12. I'm not excited.**

**Anywho, thanks so much for all the nice reviews! You guys are the best. Enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

On Wednesday during lunch, Annabelle is finishing up a test so Bethany and I sit alone.

"Oh gosh, I think I just failed my Government test," she complains, munching on a bag of chips. "Like, what the hell was up with that last section?"

"Ugh, I know," I agree. I take a sip of water. "I honestly swear that half of that last section didn't even have correct answers. And that essay totally kicked my ass."

"Don't even get me started on that," she groans, setting down her chips. "I didn't even know what I was talking about."

I laugh. "Me neither. I just rambled on about checks and balances for, like, the whole page. I'll be surprised if I get anything above a B."

"Same," she replies. "That test was brutal."

Just then, I spot Mal out of the corner of my eye. He walks behind Bethany, stopping suddenly as if his plan just moments before was to keep walking.

"Hey," he greets awkwardly, clumsily shoving his hands in his pockets. "We, um, still on for later?"

"Oh, uh, hi. Yeah," I answer quickly. "If you still need help, that is."

"Yeah, I do."

I nod. "All right… So, uh, I'll see ya' after school, then?"

Now he nods. "Yep. See ya'." With that, he walks off and joins a table of his friends.

Bethany is still smirking at me when I look back at her.

"What?" I question in exasperation. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Someone's got a boyfriend," she chimes in a sing-song voice. Much to my personal disgust, I feel my cheeks heat up a little.

"He's not my boyfriend," I hiss. "We're not even really friends. I'm just helping him with Physics."

"Yeah, sure," she says sarcastically. "Right."

"So, uh… Ready for that Physics test tomorrow?" I ask, hurriedly changing the subject. She's still giving me a weird look, but she answers nonetheless.

"Is anyone ever _really_ ready for any type of test?" she points out.

"Touché," I laugh.

We chat the rest of lunch until the dismissal bell rings. We then toss our garbage in one of the large trashcans and head off to Geometry. The rest of the day passes as it usually does: slow and boring. When the final bell rings, I realize that Mal and I had never mentioned where we were going to meet. I quickly gather my things before starting out to look for him. I scan the area where the junior lockers are, but there's no sign of him. I decide to turn back down the hallway I just came from, resolving to head back to the freshman wing just in case he came looking for me. I'm fiddling on my phone as I pass the bathroom and almost don't see the door swing open and someone rush out. I snap my head up and stop just short of running right into Mal.

He mutters a half-hearted apology before glancing down to see who he ran into.

"Oh, uh… Hi, Natara," he manages as I clumsily step back. I look up to meet his gaze and can't help but notice that his eyes are slightly reddened. He looks upset.

"I, uh… You okay?" I ask him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answers a bit too quickly. "Do you want to, uh, go somewhere else? Like, not in the building?" He glances around as if looking for someone he's trying to evade.

"Oh, well, yeah, I guess," I answer, slightly perplexed. "Downstairs courtyard?"

He nods before taking off at a rather quick pace.

"What's the rush?" I question as I nearly run to catch up.

He slows down just a hair. "Oh, sorry. I'm just… I'm trying to avoid the school counselor."

_Counselor?_

I'm tempted to ask why, but I don't. Instead, I simply mutter, "Oh, I see," as we descend the stairs, walk down the hall, and push open the double doors that lead to the lower courtyard. We sit down at a table, and we both pull our Physics review sheets out.

"So, um, what do you need help on?"

He flips the packet over and points to the very last section. It contains five problems, and they're all circled in pencil lead. "These ones. I'm not sure how to do them. And, uh, if you don't mind… Could you maybe check over some of the ones I already did? Ya' know… Just to let me know if I actually did them right or not?"

"Yeah, of course," I agree.

I begin to explain how to do the section he has circled. After re-explaining and showing him an example, I ask, "Do you think you can do those while I look at the rest of your review sheet?"

He nods, then tears just the back page off from the staple. "Yeah, I think so." He hands the rest of the packet to me.

For the next half-hour, we both wordlessly work on the task at hand. I finish checking his work, finding that he only got a few wrong. The ones he did get wrong were only minor errors; I think he's getting it. I eye Mal's paper and see that he only has one left, though he seems to be stuck on it. I decide to let him try for another few minutes, and I resolve to mindlessly doodle on a piece of scratch paper.

"What's the actual answer to this?" he questions, pointing at the last problem.

I glance down at my paper that contains the answers I know are correct—I checked them in the textbook. "Seventy-eight-point-two."

"Ugh," Mal sighs, erasing part of his work and re-trying.

A couple minutes, Mal lets out a frustrated grunt and throws his pencil down. Startled, I jerk my head up as the pencil bounces off the table and lands in the grass near my feet.

"I give up!" he exclaims in exasperation. "I can't do this! I don't even know why I took this damn class." I take a quick glance at his paper.

"No, keep going," I encourage, leaning over to pick up his pencil. "You just made one minor error. Plus," I add, holding up his review packet, "you have almost all of these correct. C'mon, Mal. You're smart; you can do it."

As I hand him back his pencil, our fingers brush. He meets my determined gaze, sighs, and accepts the writing utensil before reluctantly going over his work once again. A couple minutes later, he sets the pencil down again in a much calmer fashion.

"There," he states with a sigh. "Finally."

I look at his circled answer and smile at him. "There ya' go! See, told ya' you almost had it."

We then go over the few questions he got wrong within the rest of the packet.

"… So as long as you keep the frequency in mind," I finish, "you should be able to figure those out."

He exhales one of those 'oh, now I get it!' sounds before laying down his pencil.

"Thanks for helping me," he says, flashing me an earnest smile.

"You're welcome," I reply, returning the smile. I shoot my mom a quick text before we both gather up our stuff and walk back the way we came. A strange sense of sadness seems to hang on Mal, and I'm beginning to get the idea that there's something-other than Physics-that's bothering him.

I don't want to pry, since he's clearly been trying to hide it, but I ask anyways. "Hey, uh, Mal?" I prod as we emerge outside into the front courtyard. He glances over at me, and I take that as a signal to proceed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He sighs and looks at the ground. He's silent for several moments, then stops walking and looks down at me. I'm starting to think that he's just going to ignore the question when he speaks up. "I… I'm fine, it's just…" He bites his lip and looks straight ahead. "My mom's… sick. She's had an extremely aggressive form of cancer for a while now, and well…" He pauses, then pulls out his phone, opens a set of messages, and hands the device to me.

I recognize the name of the sender as Mal's older sister, Cynthia. It was sent during the middle of the day, just a half-hour before the final dismissal bell usually rings.

_Mom's going downhill again,_ the text reads. _She needed another emergency surgery that they performed this afternoon. She's out of it now and I think it went alright, but they won't let her have visitors yet. She's having trouble coming out of the anesthesia again. I know you're in school right now, but I'll let you know when we can see her. Just go home if you don't hear from me before school's out._

I scroll down to the second message, also from Cynthia. It was sent just a few minutes ago, actually.

_Come to the hospital when you can. She's stable, but barely. Love you._

I hand his phone back, shocked at what I'd read.

"I… I'm really sorry, Mal," is all I could think of to say.

He shrugs. "It's alright," he replies softly, suddenly very interested in something on the cracked cement.

I don't know what else to say, so we both just linger there wordlessly. After a few moments, he inhales sharply, then clears his throat.

"Well, I'm... I should go. Your mom on the way?"

"Yeah," I nod as I see her car pull in the parking lot. "She's actually right there."

Mal glances up and nods. "Alright, cool. So... See ya' at school, then?"

"Yeah," I reply with a shy smile. "Have a good night."

He manages a slight grin. "You too."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again! Here is the next chapter of _The Outside_. It's a bit shorter, so I apologize for that. But to say I've been super busy with work is an understatement. I worked 5 hours Friday, 10 Saturday, 4 Sunday, 4 Monday, 4.5 Tuesday, and I'm scheduled for 5 today. I'm off tomorrow (thankfully), but then I work 8 Friday morning and 10 on Saturday. I have no idea about next week, but it probably won't be pretty. It'll be a nice pay check, but still—some time to write and hang out with friends would be nice.**

**Anyways, enough of that. I'm going to do review replies since I have some time today.**

_**Christie (The Beautiful**** Filth) — Thank you for the continued reviews, Christie! Yes, Bethany is kind of a dork. (: **_

_**Molly (mozzi-girl) — Thanks, Molly! It's really fun to write about teenage Mal and Nat. :D**_

_**Guest 1 — Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it. (:**_

_**Guest 2 — Thanks! Yes, I try to update once every couple days, though sometimes it's more or less, depending on when I find the time. (:**_

_**Lauren (Troubles In Paradise) — Thank you, Lauren! I'm glad you're liking it so far! And truth be told, their relationship is so fun to write about, too! :D**_

**All right, well, without further ado... Chapter seven!**

* * *

As I'm walking to Physics the next day, I notice Mal coming from the opposite way. Once we're in closer proximity, we make eye contact and he smiles slightly.

"Ready for the test?" I ask as we walk into the classroom.

"I guess," he answers with a shrug. As always, he seems really tired. "About as ready as I can be, anyways," he adds. I lightly laugh at this.

"What score do you need on this to raise your grade?" I question as we sit down in our normal spots. A few more students begin to filter in.

"At least a seventy-seven," he answers, already looking defeated. "I tried reviewing again last night, but I just... couldn't concentrate, I guess." He lowers his voice a little as other students begin to walk in and sit down. "I don't know how the hell a seventy-seven will happen, though, because my highest score is barely a seventy-three. I suck at this class."

His tired eyes meet mine again and I flash him an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry about it," I tell him. "You were doing really well yesterday, and you've definitely improved. You'll do fine."

He looks at me for a moment before appreciatively returning the smile. "Thanks, Natara," he replies.

"Anytime," I reply as the tardy bell rings and Mrs. Roberts strides to the front of the classroom. She is holding a pile of packets, presumably our tests. She quickly takes attendance before shushing everyone and handing out the papers.

A half an hour later, I finish the last question and stand to turn it in. As I return to my seat, I glance over at Mal and see he's on the last page, though he appears to be stuck on one of the last problems. I know which one it is, too—I had to re-do it a couple times before getting a logical—and hopefully correct—answer.

He glances up as I sit back down, his blue eyes portraying his exasperation. I flash another "you got this" smile, which he half-heartedly returns before taking a deep breath and trying again. Five minutes later, he stands to hand it in.

After the bell rings and kids begin to hurry out of the room, Bethany says she has to run to the bathroom and will meet me in PE. She scurries off and I gather my things. I wait as Mal grabs his stuff, then we walk out of the room together.

"How'd it go?" I ask him as we walk down the hall.

"I think I actually might've passed," Mal replies, "so not bad."

I laugh. "I'm sure you did fine."

He glances over at me for a second, then smiles in response. "Thanks for the encouragement," Mal says softly. "It really helps. I... Don't hear it often."

"You're welcome," I reply with a slightly sad smile, suddenly extremely thankful for two healthy, supportive parents. Neither of us speak as we turn the corner towards the freshman wing, which he is, for whatever reason, following me to.

"How's your mom?" I ask in a low voice as I stop at my locker. I twist the combination in and pull the metal door open, sliding my Physics book into place and setting my notebook in its respective spot.

"She's... not good," he responds, gaze directed down. I close my locker and we begin the short walk towards the gym. "I went to the hospital after school yesterday, and... I mean, she was stable and everything, but she just... She just looked really different, and she wasn't talking, and I, uh, don't know how to put it, really... She was there physically, but mentally she was just kind of... spaced out."

We come to a stop in front of the gymnasium and he leans against the wall.

"I'm sorry," I mutter quietly, lightly and briefly touching his arm.

"It's fine," he replies, even though it clearly isn't. I don't know what else to say, though, so I stay quiet, and so does he. I want to ask why he walked with me when his last class is clear across the building, but I don't want to make things awkward, so I keep my mouth shut about it.

"Well," I start, "I'll see ya' later. Gym time."

"Yeah," he replies, re-positioning his bag over his shoulder. "Later."

After a very long gym class of various running games, Bethany and I part ways. She heads to the front door where her mother is waiting outside, and I walk around to a side door; my mom usually waits over there because it's less crowded. I also prefer it because it's a fairly empty hallway. Only one classroom is located there; the other rooms are either janitorial or storage. I walk down it and soon slide into my mother's car. We exchange greetings and she asks her customary question before driving off. I answer happily, then turn to the backseat. Neha is sleeping, and she looks adorable.

"How do you think your Physics test went?" she inquires as she pulls onto Main Street.

"It was easy," I tell her, "except for one problem. I think I got it, though."

"Great," she smiles proudly. "I'm glad."

A couple days later, Bethany is absent from school. I had gotten a text from her this morning telling me that she'd be gone because she wasn't feeling well. Mal and I walk up at similar times again, and I notice that he doesn't seem as tired today. He flashes me a quick grin as he falls into step beside me.

"Hey," he says as we walk in and take our usual seats. "How's it goin'?"

"Good," I answer cheerfully. "How 'bout you?"

"Decent," he replies, seeming to be in slightly better spirits today.

I set my stuff down on the desk. "Scared to get the test back?"

"A little," he admits nervously. "I would ask if you are, too, but I really don't suppose you are."

I laugh and shrug nonchalantly. "A little."

"Well, AP students," Mrs. Roberts addresses after the bell rings. "I have your tests graded, and I'm disappointed to see that the majority of you scored very poorly. I don't know if it was due to the fact that it was too hard, or that you guys just didn't study. Which would you say it was?" Silence answers her question as everyone averts their eyes. "Well, come on. I'm not just asking rhetorical questions to hear myself speak."

"Didn't study," one kid in the back mumbles. A dozen more murmur agreement. I stay quiet, as does Mal; he just winces and looks down.

"I'm glad we agree," Mrs. Roberts states after the chorus of "didn't study" dies down. "If you did not know already, this was the last test before the mid-semester exam. So for those of you who did not do well, I highly suggest you study very hard for it. Your grade depends on it. I'm not angry, but I am extremely disappointed. I expect much higher scores from an Advanced Placement class. If you're not willing to work for it or aren't keeping up, you should be in normal Physics."

The room drops into tense, eerie silence as Mrs. Roberts lets her words sink in. I glance over at Mal to see that he's staring at the floor, slightly embarrassed and clearly unnerved. I try to catch his gaze to offer silent reassurance, but he won't look up.

"If you scored below a seventy-percent," Mrs. Roberts continues, "you will need to get your test signed by at least one parent or legal guardian. They should be aware of your poor performance, and hopefully push you to do better next time." A few kids groan at this, but the teacher ignores them and continues lecturing us for the remainder of the hour. She is clearly not in a superior mood today.

"I will hand you your tests as you go out the door," she proclaims as the bell rings. Everyone shoots up and shuffles to the door. I join the back of the line, and Mal stands behind me. He looks extremely discouraged, even though he hasn't received his score yet.

"Excellent job!" Mrs. Roberts commends with a proud smile as she hands me my test. You are an exceptional student. Keep it up!" I thank her—moderately embarrassed that she announced that so loudly—and glance at my score, exhaling in relief at the one-hundred circled at the top.

Mal is behind me, and she almost does a double-take before handing him his paper.

"Well, Malachi, I am impressed," she states as he cautiously accepts it. "An immense improvement from your last few."

He quickly flips it over. Though he quickly tries to hide it, his face lights up in surprise.

"Eighty-five," he tells me after we're out the door, unmistakable relief in his voice and smile. We start walking back to the freshman wing, which he is, again, following me to.

"Whoa!" I respond, surprised but impressed. "That's awesome, Mal. Good job." He smiles back at me. "See," I add, slightly teasingly as we approach my locker, "I told you you'd do fine."

He smiles at me appreciatively. "Thanks for not giving up on me," he says as I shove my books into it and slam it shut. Then, taking me by surprise, he steps towards me and gives me a quick hug. It takes me a moment, but I lightly hug back.

"I don't care what you say otherwise," he says as he pulls away. "I know you got impatient at times."

I laugh and shrug, hoping against hope that my face has not turned cherry-red "At times, yes," I admit with a grin. "But whatever. We all have our weak areas."

"Now I just have to pass that final," he adds in a mellower tone. "That'll be fun."

"We can study together if you'd like," I tell him. "But hey, look at this last one." He grins, still clearly proud. "Even Mrs. Roberts was impressed."

"That would be cool," he says as we begin walking down the hall. A

"Have fun," he laughs, motioning towards the gym.

"Oh, I will," I mutter in light-hearted sarcasm.


End file.
